Trails to Truth

“I'm not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost.”

― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

In 32 days, I will be starting a thru-hike with my partner on the Pacific Crest Trail. In 32 days, we will start a journey of 2,650 miles (approximately 5,300,000 steps) north towards Canada. But that isn't the only thing I am walking towards. In 32 days, I will be face to face with a path of dirt that has gnawed at my being for the past three years. It's silly, but it's true. In 32 days, we will finally continue a journey we chose to end three years ago.

I believe we all have turning points in our lives. The point we turn away from ourselves and our true nature. I turned away from myself the day we chose to leave the trail. So consumed by fear of scarcity of time to "start our lives," thinking that looked like a full time career, a house, mastery, societal stability... fear of being "behind." But how can you tell me that is when life starts when I have already been breathing for 25 years? There is something untrue about that sentiment, and so it has rotted me. It has been studied that when we lie, even to ourselves, especially to ourselves, it causes a stress response in our body. When we say things that are untrue, our body physically reacts; it is not our true nature. The more we do this, the more stress reactions we have, potentially leading to developing symptoms of depression and anxiety, chronic fatigue, and even to cancer and other diseases. I have been lying to myself ever since I got off that trail. Telling myself it was the right thing to do. This is not to say I haven't had incredible experiences since leaving and lessons that I know will help me as I walk this path forward, but it is to say that the reasons I chose to leave were not in line with my truth. It has been so painful that the only thing my body has known to do to save me was to became detached. So detached I developed symptoms of dissociation, derealization, anxiety, and depression, where each day since leaving the trail has felt as though I am watching the world through a movie screen, not feeling much of anything. A voice echoing in a shell. Unable to reach the tether of memories or hold on to an anchor of identity.

Writing has always been the way to more clearly see myself and understand my place in the world. Usually however, it happens in the reading of other's poetry and prose. Feeling seen in the spaces between the black edges of someone else's font, never trusting my own misshapen squiggles. I am adrift because even in my writing, I have been lying. Trying to force beauty upon the page when what I really felt was muck. But if I wrote about the muck, that would make it true and real, and therefore painful. So I kept lying and kept piling on leaves and grime and muck of false optimisms on to the tide pool of my heart. I realize I have often written to form a mural of myself to present or perform, rather than a mirror to give myself to reflect. So now, I don’t remember how to form the letters into the shapes I want them to be to show me, me. Nothing matches or blends flawlessly together like those snow-covered peaks. My words are adrift, untethered to my heart so that I hear them coming out of my mouth, but never actually feel them come through me. This is true.

The second turning point is when we turn towards ourselves and refuse to turn back. I know it exists because there is a whole section of the bookstore devoted to it that I have become compelled towards, ravaging every word I can find. I hit my first turning point three years ago on this trail. In 31 days, I choose to turn towards my second turning point: to turn towards myself, to walk towards myself, and never turn back.

The only problem is, I'm not really quite sure what that looks like, or even feels like. I am not lost, for I know where I am. I am rather... adrift. Still moving with the tides, but without a map and compass, unsure of which direction to paddle towards with no land in sight. Searching for an anchor within myself. Where I am, every movement feels effortful. Heck, I'm not even sure if I am using the right paddle. I look to the past for answers, the future for direction. The horizon lines of my mind are cloudy and muddled with no clear distinction between now and then. Every spark of purpose lasts only the length of a matchstick. Wondering if I should just get off the boat...

I go to the trail for lessons on honesty. To learn to tell the truth, no matter how much my legs shake. The trail doesn't sugarcoat, gloss over, or give false affirmations. It doesn't promise sun, or rain. There is no tomorrow on the trail, only right now. The only constant assurance is that the trail provides.

This website is a space I hope to start to see myself in my own writing. To write what is true. To tussle with thoughts, collect resources and tools to re-orient if I find myself off-trail again, and offer invitations to think differently, openly, think again. It is a space where I can start to map the trailheads of truth for myself. Perhaps, it can be a mirror for you as well.

Maybe, I do need to get off the boat. Maybe, it's time to dive in. Anchors after all, lie at the bottom of the sea. Come swim with me.

What is true for you today?